


A Heart Full of Petals

by WritingEmi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Compliant, Flowers, Fluff, From Sex to Love, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8694808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingEmi/pseuds/WritingEmi
Summary: While Dorian can't always say how he feels to the Iron Bull, he can at least give him flowers.Written for JustJasper and for the prompt: "Dorian accidentally on purpose keeps giving the Bull flowers."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustJasper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/gifts).



> A happy Holiday Exchange to JustJasper! I hope you enjoy this small offering :)

_Crystal Grace_

“Why do we need so many flowers? Surely Skyhold’s stocks of herbs and flora are more than adequate,” Dorian commented, looking at his basket of flowers and at the grove around him filled with Crystal Grace and wildflowers.

“Because I need fresh ones for Sera,” Cadash answered easily.

“Why would Sera need flowers? Are they for those potions she pours on herself in battle? Why am I out here toiling with you instead of her?”

“What? No! They’re a gift.”

“A gift? Why would you give Sera flowers?”

“Because that’s what you give to someone you’re courting!”

Dorian blinked at Cadash’s answer. The Inquisitor found a small grove outside of Skyhold and she asked Dorian to help her gather flowers from it that morning. While the grove was one of the bright spots on the dreadful mountains Skyhold sat on and the enjoyment he took in Cadash’s company, Dorian was hesitant to agree leaving his nook in the library for something as simple as harvesting herbs.

However, considering the kindness and empathy Cadash showed him after the whole incident with his father, Dorian figured he owed her a favor or two. Plus, she chose to save the Chargers over the alliance with the Qunari. Then she helped Dorian track down Venatori members and sent assistance to Maevaris in Tevinter. And she did have a fantastic habit of buying Dorian some rather beautiful and sturdy armor, and giving him rare weapons that she found in the field.

Actually, he might owe her more than a couple favors.

Despite that, he couldn’t help but say, “You mean we’re not gathering Crystal Grace for useful things, like potions and tonics? You dragged me out here so we could gather flowers for _Sera_?”

“It sounds so trivial when you say it like that. This is important, Dorian. Besides, you told me you’d help me find a gift for her.”

Dorian had only himself to blame for his own stupidity for agreeing to help Cadash. Not that he wanted his friend to be unhappy, but a present for Sera was a difficult task to ask of anyone. Dorian did have a few ideas, but he knew Cadash wouldn’t shave a dirty word anywhere or give Sera some noble to use as target practice.

“So, you don’t give flowers during courtship in Tevinter?” Cadash had the audacity to sound scandalized.

“Not like this. We use them for decoration, yes, but not as gifts. You might give your intended a beautiful or rare plant to put in their garden, but you don’t cut off the flower and give it to them. Seems rather wasteful.” Dorian wrinkled his nose as he clipped another delicate blossom and placed it in the basket he was carrying. He wondered how loudly his family’s gardener would laugh if he saw Dorian now.

“But it’s not! You don’t want to overwhelm your sweetheart with a whole garden, especially if they don’t know how to care for it, but it’s a nice reminder that someone cares. And when the flowers die, you can always get more!” Cadash cut more flowers with enthusiasm as her own basket was beginning to overflow with buds, stems, and petals. “What do you give to the Bull?”

“Do you really want me to go into detail about _that_?”

Cadash sighed loudly, unflustered by Dorian’s meaning. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I mean, what sort of gifts do you give him?”

“I don’t give him gifts. Whatever it is between us, we aren’t exactly courting.”

The dwarf rolled her eyes at him in disbelief and continued preparing her present for Sera.

It was past noon when they headed back to Skyhold and Cadash became uncomfortable as they walked through the gates, glancing down at their overladen baskets of flowers. The Crystal Grace could be used in potions, but they also got a variety of vibrant wildflowers that were growing in the grove. They were pretty, but had no practical use.

“This was probably overkill.”

“You think so?” Dorian only mentioned that a dozen times as they walked back to Skyhold.

“What am I going to do with all of these flowers!? Sera hates things that remind her of nature. What was I thinking?”

“Don’t ask me!” Dorian thought that it might be gift enough for Sera to see how wound up the normally cool and unflappable Malika Cadash was, but was wise enough not to say it out loud.

Cadash stared at Dorian’s basket as the mage held it out to her, waiting for her to take it. She made no move to take the flowers and then ran off towards the tavern while shouting, “They’re yours now! Thanks for your help, Dorian!”

Dorian was cursing at her in outrage when Iron Bull walked up to him. Iron Bull had just finished training with the Chargers out in the courtyard when he saw Dorian and Cadash return and went up to greet the mage after Cadash ran off. He eyed the bundle of flowers with amusement.

“Were you and the Boss out picking flowers?” Iron Bull asked, barely able to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Dorian scowled, but then he briefly considered that Iron Bull might like to have them. The other man was an admirer of pretty things, the fact that he was bedding Dorian was proof enough of that. And Iron Bull was always painfully kind to Dorian, more so than any of his previous lovers. A small gesture of thoughtfulness of his own wouldn’t be remiss, Dorian figured.

Shoving the basket into Iron Bull’s hands, Dorian said, “Here, take this.”

He marched away before Iron Bull could protest. Retreating back to the library, Dorian thought about how he more important things to do than to worry about flowers and Cadash’s gift for Sera. And really, he didn’t give the flowers a second thought until later that night. 

After having dinner and playing a round of chess with Commander Cullen, he went up to Iron Bull’s room, where his lover was waiting for him. A couple hours later found Dorian completely naked and pleasantly stretched out on the bed. His wrists tied to the headboard by silk scarves with enough slack so his arms rested comfortably and his legs were draped over Iron Bull’s shoulders after being thoroughly fucked for the second time that night.

A half strangled noise involuntarily escaped from Dorian’s throat when Iron Bull’s fingers brushed against his overly sensitive and loose entrance. Iron Bull withdrew his hand and gripped Dorian’s thigh, murmuring, “I know, it’s too much, just checking to make sure I didn’t hurt you.”

“I feel fine. I could take you again, if you like,” Dorian offered, wiggling his hips towards Bull with a sly smile.

“Hm, maybe next time,” Iron Bull replied, carefully easing Dorian’s legs off his shoulders before leaning down to kiss him. Iron Bull possessed a keen understanding of Dorian’s limits and fiercely respected them.

Dorian melted into the kiss and let Iron Bull go through his routine of aftercare. He untied Dorian, rubbed his shoulders and wrists to relieve any aches, and wiped him clean with a warm washcloth. No matter how intense Bull was in bed, he was always gentle with Dorian afterwards and was by far the most considerate lover Dorian ever had.

Once he finished, Iron Bull laid down in the bed next to Dorian and let the mage huddle up against him for warmth. As he draped himself over the Bull’s broad chest, Dorian noticed an elegant crystal vase on a table on the other side of the room, filled with the flowers he all but threw at Iron Bull that afternoon. Iron Bull had occupied his attention so completely earlier that Dorian missed the flowers when he came in.

They were an odd contrast to the rest of the wreckage of Bull’s room. Their bright colors and expensive looking vase stuck out amongst the overturned dresser, broken shelves, and gaping hole in the roof.

“Sweet of you to give me flowers,” Iron Bull mumbled sleepily, noticing where Dorian’s gaze landed.

A blush spread over Dorian’s face. After of all the filthy things Iron Bull said to him without ever feeling squeamish, Dorian found himself embarrassed by that simple statement. Cadash said flowers were given during courtship and he wondered if that was what Bull saw in them, as a romantic gesture. He brushed off the thought, reassuring himself that Bull probably didn’t think of them that way.

“Staying?” Iron Bull asked, grabbing the woolen blanket bunched up at the foot of the bed and pulled it over them. Then he settled his large hand on the small of Dorian’s back as if pinning the mage to him.

The question startled Dorian. Iron Bull often asked if Dorian wanted to go another round, but never if he was staying. When they first started sleeping together, Iron Bull made it clear that Dorian was always welcome to spend the night, that he actually enjoyed cuddling after sex, but he never brought up the issue when Dorian left every time. Now, he was openly asking if Dorian was staying.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Dorian nodded against Bull’s chest. He couldn’t find it in himself to refuse, not when no one had ever asked him before.

“Only if you promise to suck me off in the morning.”

A chuckle rumbled through Bull. “Was already planning on it, big guy.”

 

_Daisies_

The problem with going out into the field was that there was more downtime than one would anticipate, especially with the chaos breaking out across Thedas. While there was plenty of time spent killing Venatori, Red Templars, Freemen, bandits, demons, and the undead, there was also a lot of quiet traveling between locations, uneventful days of repairing gears and healing injuries, and long stretches of time at camps and strongholds waiting for fresh reinforcements to arrive from Skyhold. 

The members of the Inquisitor’s inner circle all packed light to be ready to go at a moment’s notice, which meant that Dorian and his allies didn’t carry things like books or a chessboard with them. So they found their entertainment where they could, often with the deck of cards Varric always carried, telling stories, verbal sparring, or listening to Cole rattle off their inner most wounds.

Out in the Emerald Graves, in the lush green forest singing with wildlife, Dorian found little to amuse himself with. He didn’t find any peace and enjoyment amongst the tall trees or babbling creeks and was eager to leave.

They finished clearing out the Freemen from Argon’s Lodge and helped Fairbanks move his people there, all in a good day’s work and earned them a much needed rest back in Skyhold, or so Dorian assumed. They arrived at the campsite near the road leading out of the Emerald Graves and were set to leave when Cullen sent word of red lyrium shipments in the area, delaying their departure.

Cadash was speaking with Scout Harding, trying to get more information about the area that the smugglers were last spotted, and Iron Bull disappeared into a tent to write to Krem, leaving Dorian and Varric to sit around the fire on their own. 

Helping around the campsite was out of the question, the soldiers and scouts ran a smooth operation and didn’t need either Dorian nor Varric getting in their way. Their weapons and armor were repaired, their potions and tonics were refilled, and it was too early to dinner, thus all they could really do was talk or play cards. At least Dorian was on friendly terms with Varric, who didn’t have a chip on his shoulder about Tevinter or mages, and better yet, the dwarf never ran out of stories. 

Tired of cards and needing something to do with his hands, Varric started linking together daisies into chains as he spun outrageous tales about the Champion of Kirkwall and her companions. Boredom was a powerful motivator, because even as Dorian scoffed at the activity once Varric began, he soon found himself asking Varric to teach him how to make the daisy chains.

“Then Isabela threw Marian onto her ship and they sailed off as the sun was setting on the Waking Sea, going on what I suspect was something of a honeymoon.” Varric finished his story with a romantic flourish and making Dorian dubious of the reliability of the storyteller. 

“Are you serious? The Champion of Kirkwall is married to a pirate?” Dorian asked, watching Varric’s technique of stringing snowy white and cheery yellow flowers together in a loop.

“Married is a bit of a strong word. Isabela would never consider herself married, but let me put it this way, if someone looked at Marian, Isabela would be just as likely to kill them out of jealousy as she would be to ask them into threesome.”

“That sounds … complicated.”

“And you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Sparkler?” Varric looked pointedly over to where Bull was coming out of the tent.

Dorian stiffened. “I hardly know your meaning.”

“Sure, Sparkler, keep telling yourself that.”

Iron Bull, done with his correspondence, sat down next to Dorian and watched as he and Varric worked on their daisy chains.

“Looks like important work,” Bull teased.

“You’re not going to get one if you’re going to be like that,” Dorian snipped even as he reached up and looped a ring of daisies over one of Iron Bull’s horns.

The fragile chain of white and yellow flowers around Bull’s horn made Dorian think of the vase filled with the mix of Crystal Grace and wildflowers that sat in Iron Bull’s room for almost two weeks. He remembered how much Iron Bull had admired the flowers and the way Bull’s lips curled up in a small smile whenever he looked at them. 

The flowers also reminded him of the unbearable look of fondness on Iron Bull’s face in the morning after the first night Dorian spent with him. Of the Bull getting out of bed to get dressed and pausing to look at the bouquet of Crystal Grace before reaching out to touch one of the delicate petals.

Shaking off the memory, Dorian made another ring to hang on Iron Bull’s horn.

By the time Cadash came to join her companions after speaking with Harding and sending a missive off to Cullen, both of Iron Bull’s horns were covered in rings of white and yellow daisies. Varric was still telling his tales and Dorian was furiously linking flowers together, strangely proud of the fact that he was able to get them in varying sizes so they rested at different points on Bull’s horns. Bull just sat there with an odd little grin on his face, letting Dorian decorate him as he wished.

“Dorian, what have you done to my Reaver?” Cadash asked, exasperation coloring her words.

“I think it’s quite an improvement,” Dorian flattered himself. 

“Bull doesn’t quite strike fear into the hearts of our enemies anymore.”

“Don’t worry, Boss, I’m battle ready,” Iron Bull reassured her.

Iron Bull got to prove those words almost immediately as a scout sprinted up to the camp, her breath ragged, barely able to get out her words of warning.

“Freemen! Right behind me!”

It was an ambush, revenge from the remaining Freemen in the area. Thankfully the scout gave them enough time to scramble for their weapons and to alert the camp, summoning up their defenses. With element of surprise gone and with the Freemen’s numbers diminished from the Inquisition’s intervention in the Emerald Graves, the fight wasn’t a particularly difficult one.

But the fight did give Dorian the satisfaction of hearing one the Freemen, before being cut down by one of Bianca’s bolts, exclaim, “Does that oxman have _flowers_ on his horns?”

 

_Roses_

“Andraste help me!” Josephine fumed as she stormed down the hall in a great flurry. 

Everyone in her way quickly moved to the side and gave her space. No one, save Leliana, had seen her in this state before as her face was beginning to match the plush red velvet of her dress uniform. 

Josephine looked like she was tempted to start kicking chairs and tipping over tables, and if they were in Skyhold she might have. But in their rather grand and borrowed apartments in Halamshiral, Josephine managed to stay somewhat poised. She was probably reminding herself of the Inquisition’s reputation, the cost of replacing the intricately carved and polished furniture, and her own friendship with the Baron who graciously lent them his home near the Winter Palace.

Josephine brushed by Dorian in the parlor in a huff and without so much of an apology, causing him to stupidly open his mouth and ask Leliana and Cullen, “What has gotten our dear ambassador in such a fluster?”

Cullen’s face paled and Leliana tried to silence Dorian with a glare, both obviously hoping that their ambassador didn’t hear him.

Josephine stopped, spun on her heel, and walked up to Dorian, shaking her finger in his face. “You! You are the Iron Bull’s paramour!”

Dorian’s cheeks heated up with embarrassment as Josephine spat it out like an accusation. For a moment, Dorian thought that Josephine was going to chastise him about his relationship in the same way Mother Giselle did when she cornered him in Skyhold. However, that was far from Josephine’s mind.

“I need you to get Iron Bull under control!” Josephine continued on like Dorian had any influence over Bull.

“What are you going on about?” Dorian asked, his bewilderment evident in his voice.

“He has been wearing his dress uniform for a total of fifteen minutes and he has already stained it! We are leaving for the Winter Palace in half an hour. Everyone’s eyes will be on us and something as simple as a stain on a shirt can lower the Court’s opinion of the Inquisition. Trust me, Lord Pavus, when I say that we will need every bit of approval we can get!”

If Josephine did not look to be on the verge of a complete meltdown, Dorian might have said something snarky in return. But the gleam in Josephine’s eyes told him that she might give up her diplomacy at any moment and use physical means to get her point across.

“I will go see the Bull,” Dorian consented, fleeing Josephine’s wrath.

He went straight to Iron Bull’s room, though to be honest, it was also his room. Josephine was kind enough to not make assumptions and assigned him separate quarters, but he hadn’t set a foot in them since they arrived. Inside, Bull was standing before the full length mirror on the wall, the one that they enjoyed earlier that day, and was worrying over the offending stain.

“You are causing Josephine quite a bit of grief,” Dorian scolded Iron Bull, stepping in front of him to examine Bull’s uniform.

From the way Josephine reacted, Dorian expected there to be a large food stain down the middle of the red velvet of Bull’s uniform. Instead, Dorian only spied a small blot of black ink on the lapel of the uniform jacket. It probably happened while Bull was chewing on his pen, as was his habit when he was thinking in the middle of writing something. The fact that he even knew that made Dorian squirm on the inside.

“This is fixable,” he announced.

“You got a spell that removes ink from clothes?”

“Not everything is about magic. Just most things.”

Dorian looked about the room and spotted exactly what he needed. The tailor left behind some pins after doing a few emergency alterations that afternoon and on one of the dressers sat a vase filled with white roses with blush tipped petals. After gathering what he needed and trimming the stem off the flower, Dorian expertly pinned the rose to Iron Bull’s jacket and smoothed out the fabric. Dorian found that his hands lingered on the jacket, feeling the bulge of Bull’s chest under the soft velvet.

As much as he enjoyed watching Iron Bull run around without a shirt, Bull did look rather striking in formal dress. The red velvet stretched wonderfully across his chest, not too loose or too tight, the sash helped to hide the softness of Bull’s belly, and the trousers hugged his strong legs. Iron Bull always looked dangerous, but now he looked powerful, like he could lead an army instead of a band of misfit mercenaries. 

Dorian suddenly imagined Iron Bull fully dressed in the uniform, tearing off his clothes and throwing him onto the bed. He thought about how that velvet might feel against his bare skin along with the scrape of Iron Bull’s large hands. He could see himself hard and needy, begging for Bull to stop teasing him and to fuck him.

Dorian wished that they had more than half an hour before leaving for the ball.

“There,” Dorian declared, a little more breathlessly than he liked, “now we won’t be tossed out on our asses from the Winter Palace and the Empress’s life is safe.”

“Pretty sure you just saved the world, big guy,” Iron Bull grinned. 

He cupped Dorian’s cheek to kiss him, careful not to muss Dorian’s perfectly styled hair or smudge his carefully applied makeup. The kiss was a slow slide of tongues and a gentle scrape of teeth against lips that made them both hungry with desire. Normally, Dorian would be clinging onto Bull’s shoulders or chest, but he had to settle on clutching at Iron Bull’s bare wrists so not to wrinkle the jacket. It was a quiet burn that might have ignited into something else if Dorian didn’t assert some self-control and tear himself away from Bull’s mouth. 

“And you almost destroyed the world by chewing on your pen again,” Dorian retorted. “Do quit that, it’s a disgusting habit.”

Iron Bull raised an eyebrow. “Noticed that, huh?”

Taking a step back, Dorian replied blithely, “Hard not to. Now, do hurry and finish getting ready, you cannot expect me to save you if Josephine comes to collect your head.”

The rose stayed pinned to the Iron Bull for the entirety of the ball. It stayed firmly on his chest as servants came by to refill his drink and bat their eyelashes at him, and as nobles stared at him as a curiosity. Bull even took care to make sure it didn’t get crushed as they changed into their armor and leathers to track down the assassin. It was still there when Iron Bull held his hand out to Dorian and asked him to dance at the end of the night, after the Empress was saved and reunited with her lover. 

And every time Dorian looked at the bloom, he liked to think that the people at the ball knew that he put it there, that Dorian marked Iron Bull as his own.

The rose didn’t survive when they returned to their borrowed apartments after the ball. The flower was crushed at some point between when Dorian pulled Iron Bull in for a searing kiss once the door closed, demanding to be ravished, and when Bull’s jacket was thrown onto the floor, right before he pressed into Dorian while growling words of conquest in the mage’s ear.

But by then, Dorian didn’t mind.

 

_Jasmine_

Adamant Fortress was only half a day’s march away when the Inquisition’s forces stopped to camp in the blighted desert and to regroup before resuming the march in the morning. Cold dread sank in Dorian’s stomach at the thought of it. Cadash asked him to accompany her into Adamant and she was kind enough to give him an opportunity to refuse, but he agreed anyways. He didn’t relish the idea of charging into the fortress with the Inquisitor to fight demons and Grey Wardens, but he knew he’d never forgive himself if something happened to Cadash.

Iron Bull wasn’t happy that Dorian was going with Cadash. He wasn’t invited to be a part of her party as Cadash asked Blackwall to accompany her, hoping that his Grey Warden status would be an asset. The last slot in the party was reserved for Sera, which wasn’t surprising since the elf and dwarf fought in perfect tandem with each other. Cadash didn’t need to watch her back as she slashed and hacked her enemies, because Sera was always there with her arrows. So instead of standing as the Inquisitor’s bodyguard and warrior as usual, Bull would be leading the Chargers, helping breach the walls and cut down the demons.

In their shared tent, Iron Bull sat on a small stool and sharpened his battleaxe with a whetstone, his movements harsh and his mouth set in a firm line.

“It’s going to be a shit show in there,” Bull grumbled.

“All the more reason for me to accompany Cadash,” Dorian answered as he rewrapped the grip on his staff, sitting cross legged on his bedroll. “Really, do you trust Vivienne to dirty her skirts for the Inquisitor? And Solas will probably be busy trying to make friends with the demons to be of any use.”

“Ma’am cares about Cadash and fights just as hard as any of us,” Iron Bull was quick to defend her, “but you’re right about Solas, he’s an ok guy, but shifty as fuck.”

Bull rolled his shoulders and his face twisted in disgust. Dorian knew that Bull suspected that Solas was hiding something, but he couldn’t figure out what. It drove Iron Bull crazy like an itch he couldn’t reach.

“Vivienne would be a better balance to Blackwall,” Iron Bull said.

“I’ve fought at Blackwall’s side countless times and you’ve never complained about us being unbalanced.”

“You’re not, but she’d just be a better choice for the party this time.”

“With Blackwall and Sera? You know we’re supposed to be fighting demons and not each other.”

“You’re not best friends with Blackwall either.”

“It might surprise you, but we’re actually becoming friends. I think he appreciates that I don’t think of him as a thug or a piece of furniture like Madame de Fer.”

“Look, you’re just a bad fit for the party. You’d be better off helping the Chargers and the Inquisition forces take the fortress.”

For once Dorian didn’t rise to the bait and only raised an eyebrow at him.

A loud sigh escaped from Bull as he put aside his whetstone and laid down his weapon. “I don’t like that I’m going into this battle without you.”

The confession was uttered so quietly that Dorian nearly missed it. The statement made Dorian’s heart skip a beat and he found that he understood how Iron Bull felt. Blackwall was a fine warrior, but he didn’t fill Dorian with the same sense of security that Iron Bull did. At that moment, it felt excruciating that they would be apart for the siege on Adamant.

Reaching into his robe, Dorian pulled out a blue silk handkerchief trimmed with silver thread. In its folds were several sprigs of dried jasmine that he placed in it in lieu of packing any scented oils. He decided that he wanted to use the extra space in his bag for more bottles of lyrium rather than for vanity items. It was a trick he actually picked up from Vivienne.

“Just because we can’t pack perfumes, doesn’t mean we should smell like unwashed peasants, my dear,” she had said to Dorian, handing him a white linen handkerchief with vanilla folded into it right before they took Griffon Wing Keep.

He got up and placed the blue silk handkerchief, with the jasmine in it, into Iron Bull’s hand. “Since I cannot be at your side, I’ll give you this favor to wear into battle. Please mind that I do expect you to return it afterwards, it is one of my last good handkerchiefs.”

The smile on Bull’s face was soft and there was an unreadable look in his eye. “I’ll wear it over my heart.”

Dorian just ducked his head as he went back to working on his weapon, trying to ignore Bull’s affectionate stare.

After the battle and falling back out of the Fade, Dorian trudged back to their tent, which was now stationed far too close to Adamant for his comfort. He tore off the outer layer of his Enchanter mail and found a basin to fill with water, heating it until he almost couldn’t stand the temperature. Grabbing a cloth, he started scrubbing off a mixture of demon, Grey Warden, and Fearling blood from his skin, tinting the water a muddied pink. 

The water almost burned him, but the pain gave Dorian something to focus on. His hands were still shaking at the fresh images of fighting the Nightmare and leaving Loghain behind to his certain death running through his mind. He scrubbed harder as Loghain’s last battle cry echoed in his ears. 

A hand grasped his wrist and Iron Bull’s strained voice begged, “Stop, Dorian.”

He didn’t even hear Iron Bull enter the tent and when he looked up at Bull he could clearly see the exhaustion and concern etched across his face. There was a short pause as they both took in the sight of each other and then suddenly Dorian was in Iron Bull’s arms, not caring a bit about the stench of sweat and blood clinging onto both of them.

Armor, robes, and leathers covered the ground as they hurriedly stripped, needing each other in a way that Dorian couldn’t articulate. There was something of desperation in Bull’s eye as he covered Dorian with his body, holding him down, as they laid down on their pushed together bedrolls.

Iron Bull held him closely as they rutted against each other, sliding their hips together for a spark of raw pleasure from the friction of it. Thankfully Dorian had mind enough to fumble around for Bull’s bag, knowing that there would be a vial of oil there. Once Dorian found it, he spilled some oil into his palm, and reached down between their bodies to spread it on their erections and eased Iron Bull between his clenched thighs. 

“Kadan,” Iron Bull called him again and again, reverence tinting the unknown word each time he said it. 

Dorian rocked his hips forward to rub himself against Iron Bull’s stomach, his cries and moans muffled by Iron Bull’s mouth against his own. It only took a couple strokes after Bull grasped his straining cock to make Dorian come, gasping out his release and trembling at its suddenness. The orgasm was almost too quick to be satisfying, but the weight of Bull’s body on top of his and the sound of his voice gave Dorian a different sense of satisfaction and pleasure.

Pressing his legs tighter together around Iron Bull’s erection and clinging onto the rough base of Bull’s horns, Dorian rasped, “Amatus, let me see you.” And with a growl, Iron Bull shuddered through his orgasm. 

There was nothing tender about the sex, it was more about the comfort of knowing that each other was alive and to drive away the lingering fears that haunted them from their experiences at Adamant. Dorian tried to forget what he experienced in the Fade where his worst fears came to life, and tried to banish the memories of the Nightmare. Iron Bull’s own fears were also exposed at Adamant, though in a different way.

“I saw you fall,” Bull whispered brokenly as they held each other afterwards, Dorian tucked neatly under his arm and at his side. “I saw you fall. I let you go into that battle without me and you fell into the fucking Fade. I thought you were dead. I … I lost control. I killed everything in sight and when I thought I was going to go mad, I don’t know how, but I caught your scent somewhere near me. It grounded me, kept me from going insane.”

Dorian closed his eyes, remembering the gravestone in the Fade with Iron Bull’s name on it and the word _Madness_ under it. Sitting up, Dorian straddled Bull’s waist, letting the other man feel his weight and clearly see his face. 

He grabbed Iron Bull’s wrist and pressed his large hand over his heart so Bull could feel its beat. Then he felt it, not Iron Bull’s calloused palm against his chest, but instead he felt the overly warmed and sweaty silk of the handkerchief he gave to Iron Bull. It occurred to Dorian that Bull must’ve been holding onto his favor the entire time, maybe taking it out when they were undressing or even as early as when he entered the tent. 

The handkerchief mostly smelled of Bull, but under it was the delicate fragrance of jasmine.

“I’m here, I’m here now,” Dorian whispered back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

_Embrium_

“Cadash said I could have the extra dragon’s tooth,” Dorian insisted.

“Hey, who was the one to deliver the killing blow?” Bull countered, his large hands trying to pry open Dorian’s iron grip on the tooth.

“Oh please, the only reason you could get that close to the damn thing was because of my barrier!”

“Why do you even need a dragon’s tooth?”

“I need a new staff blade!”

“And I don’t need a new blade for my battleaxe? You hardly ever use your staff blade anyway!”

“Maybe I would if it was made of a dragon’s tooth.”

“I’ll kill you another dragon and you can have all the teeth you want, but this one is mine!”

“No! Cadash said it was mine!”

“Andraste’s tits, no one gets the tooth!” The element of surprise was on Cadash’s side as she managed to wrench the tooth from both Dorian and Iron Bull.

Annoyance filled Dorian as he watched Cadash walk away with his prize. He wasn’t going to use it for a staff blade, he was going to make a Qunari necklace out of it and give it to Iron Bull as a surprise. He’d read about the tradition of splitting a dragon’s tooth in half and making it into a pair of necklaces when he was researching the meaning of the word _kadan_. 

Bull looked equally annoyed and they didn’t speak a single word to each other the entire way to Caer Bronach.

“Ugh, this is worse than seeing your parents fight,” Cadash muttered and made Cassandra smother a snort of laughter.

“For all of their posturing, they are quite the old married couple sometimes,” Cassandra agreed.

They must have looked bad if even Cassandra was having fun at their expense, but Dorian didn’t care that he was being immature. He told Cadash what he was planning to do with the tooth and she enthusiastically promised that she would save one for him. But his entire plan was out the window because Iron Bull wanted a new blade for his weapon. 

_Though Bull might actually prefer a new blade over the necklace,_ Dorian thought miserably.

Deciding not to return to his shared room with Bull at Caer Bronach, because Iron Bull was likely to go there to sulk, Dorian did his own pouting outside the walls of the keep. Idly, he picked the abundant embrium growing wild in Crestwood, thinking about his once grand plans. 

It was all very simple, they would slay the dragon, Iron Bull would have a great time, and Cadash would gift Dorian with a spare dragon’s tooth as the rest was promised to Cullen to be used for Inquisition equipment. But he didn’t anticipate that Iron Bull wanted the tooth just as eagerly.

Now he didn’t have a tooth and he felt at a loss. He wanted to give Iron Bull something meaningful and without the dragon’s tooth, he had no idea what to give him. He didn’t have much spare coin to buy anything meaningful and he wasn’t skilled in any crafts. Not that there was an occasion for a gift and really, Iron Bull owed him for never giving back his silk blue handkerchief. But the disappointment bit deeply in him and it wasn’t quick to let him go, he was actually looking forward to giving Iron Bull the necklace.

Done with his moping, Dorian returned to the keep and made his way to his shared quarters. Bull wasn’t there, but his dirty and blood caked armor on the floor told Dorian that he stopped by the room.

The small, bare room boasted few comforts, as did Caer Bronach in general, though it was far preferable to sleeping in a tent. There was a serviceable bed and a fireplace, but the one luxury was a tub in the room. Dorian was able to salvage an old porcelain tub from one of the storage rooms of the keep and lovingly restored it. It was smaller than the one he had access to in Skyhold, but he almost appreciated it more as it was always a welcome indulgence in the middle of long journeys away from Skyhold.

Stripping out of his filthy battlemage armor, Dorian pulled on a light linen robe and filled a basin and the tub with water. He plucked the blooms off of the embrium, tossed them into the tub, and gently heated the water with magic to coax out their scent. 

But instead of climbing into the tub, Dorian grabbed a washcloth and washed from the basin, scrubbing the dragon’s blood off of him and wiping away the layer of dried sweat that clung to him. He had just finished washing his hair when Bull appeared in the room.

“Kadan, I, uh …” Iron Bull started, shifting awkwardly.

“Let’s not do this, amatus,” Dorian interrupted. “You were wrong as was I, we both acted childishly, and now we will make up.”

“Huh, didn’t think you’d make this easy.”

“I do like to keep you on your toes. Now, come here.” Dorian beckoned Iron Bull to the bath as he heated up the water again to a comfortable temperature.

Bull gave Dorian a questioning look, but obeyed. He took off his clothing and sank down into the tub. It was a tight fit as some of the water sloshed out and Iron Bull had to bend his knees up to get all the way in, but even Bull admitted that the tub was better than nothing. After a bit of maneuvering, Iron Bull got comfortable and leaned back in the tub, playing with one of the floating embrium buds.

Stepping behind of Iron Bull and soaping up a washcloth, Dorian rolled up the sleeves of his robe and began to wash Bull’s back and shoulders. Iron Bull had wiped himself off when took off his armor earlier, but only enough to get rid of the worst of the dragon’s blood and remove his vitaar. Dorian did a more thorough job, washing off the sweat and bits of blood that Iron Bull missed. Summoning a controlled heat into his hands, Dorian worked out the knots in Bull’s shoulders, and then moved around the tub to wash his chest.

“I should’ve let you have the tooth,” Iron Bull murmured, his single eye closed in relaxation. “Cadash promised it to you and I should’ve respected that.”

“Hush.”

“I’m trying to apologize here,” Iron Bull said lightly, opening his eye. He grabbed Dorian’s free hand and pressed a kiss on the inside of his wrist. “I was wrong, not you.”

“I didn’t make things better by how I acted,” he admitted, letting out a long sigh. “I didn’t even want to make a staff blade, I wanted … Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”

Picking up one of the waterlogged embrium blossoms, Dorian tucked it behind Iron Bull’s ear.

“I just wanted you to know that, I mean, you’re … Amatus, you’re more to me than …” The words refused to come out, stuck in Dorian’s brain and heart, but his usually clever tongue failed him.

A wet hand cupped his cheek and drew him in for a kiss. “Kadan,” Iron Bull said against his lips. “Kadan, take off your robe and get in here with me.”

Dorian shook his head. “You know I won’t fit in there with you.” With a touch of authority, he added, “I’m going to finish washing you, then you’re going to get into bed, and let me take care of you all night.”

Iron Bull sucked in a sharp breath, his eye widening. “I like it when you’re bossy.”

“Well, someone has to pamper you. I’m told you delivered the killing blow to a dragon today.”

“Only because I had such strong barriers to protect me.” Iron Bull twirled an embrium blossom between his fingers and grinned, “Now, can you finish my bath so you can have your way with me as soon as possible?”

Dorian snorted and said, “This is the last time I’ll be giving into your demands tonight.”

As soon as Iron Bull got out of the tub and was dried off, Dorian pushed him down onto the bed and worshipped him. He sought all of the spots that made Iron Bull gasp and wrought out hungry noises from his lover. He knew how to draw it out, how to tease Iron Bull, and how to take pleasure in seeing him come undone. By the time he took Iron Bull over the edge, his lover was begging for him.

The blunt claws on Iron Bull’s fingers dug into Dorian’s back when he finally slid into Bull and started his slow thrusts. Dorian pressed his forehead to Bull’s, closing his eyes at the sensation, listening to the all the desperate whines Iron Bull made, and over Bull’s usual musk, Dorian could smell the aroma of embrium clinging to his gray skin.

“I love you, kadan,” Bull confessed, his voice breaking out into a moan as Dorian shifted, pressing into him in just the right way. “I love you. You’re so perfect, so good to me.”

“Amatus, I …” Dorian’s words trailed off, caught in the pleasure of both Iron Bull’s body and declaration.

“I know, kadan, I know. Show me.”

Despite what he said earlier, Dorian gave into Iron Bull's demands.

The next morning, Cadash caught Dorian and Iron Bull as they left their quarters in search of breakfast and she presented them with two identical wrapped bundles.

“I split it in half,” she told them, sounding quite proud of herself. “Now you don’t have to fight over the tooth.”

Dorian was curious about what she was getting at and Iron Bull looked visibly distraught and he opened his mouth to protest, but Cadash cut him off.

“I know you were both going to use it for the same thing. Now go make your necklaces for each other and _never_ make me have to listen to you two argue again.”

 

_Honeysuckle_

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” Dorian said.

“Writing to your Iron Bull again so soon?” Maevaris lifted an eyebrow, watching Dorian write at his desk.

Maevaris arrived at the Pavus estate to dine with Dorian earlier than he expected and she was escorted into his study where he was still working by one of his mother’s slaves. Even after Dorian freed all of the slaves he inherited with the estate, his mother flatly refused to free any of her personal slaves. It made for an odd tension in status as most of the former slaves of the Pavus estate stayed on as employed servants and still lived in their quarters. It wasn’t encouraging to Dorian that he couldn’t even bring reform to his own house.

He was busy writing a letter to Iron Bull when Maevaris arrived, one of the past times that kept him sane since inheriting his father’s seat in the Magisterium. Not having many boundaries, Maevaris took a peek at the letter, catching the salutation _Dearest Amatus_ before Dorian shooed her away and she settled on the silk cushioned settee nearby. Not that Dorian minded that Maevaris knew about his relationship with Iron Bull, but he was writing some rather private things to Bull and didn’t want her hovering over his shoulder. The letters that they exchanged were of quite a scandalous nature. 

The first half page or so of Iron Bull’s letters were usually an update about how the Chargers were doing and any interesting jobs they had. Then the rest could only be described as brilliantly filthy. Iron Bull wrote in graphic detail about what he wanted to do to Dorian and what he wanted Dorian to do to him. Sometimes, when Bull was feeling creative, he even drew pictures and Dorian had to admit that Bull was a halfway decent artist.

They had plenty of sessions with the sending crystals where Iron Bull’s deep, commanding voice told him how to touch himself, praised every wanton moan he elicited from Dorian, and described to the mage about what he was doing to himself. But the letters sometimes turned Dorian on more. There was something about the loving and raunchy way Bull wrote about Dorian’s body, the vividness of his own imagination, and having a physical memento from Bull that made Dorian excited. He was sure he could make a small fortune in selling Cassandra their correspondence, as could Bull in teaching Varric a thing or two about writing love scenes. 

And Dorian always faithfully wrote back to Iron Bull in equal fervor, if not in equal quality. His old sex life was not conducive to practicing the art of writing love letters.

“The Iron Bull is a prolific correspondent and he becomes quite cross when I don’t reply with some promptness,” he explained.

“Oh?”

“He likes to know what I'm up to.”

“Jealous much, is he?”

Dorian scoffed at the thought. “Not in the slightest.”

“Are you sure, Dorian?”

He glared sharply at his friend. “Are you suggesting this because he’s Tal-Vashoth?”

“What?” Maevaris was genuinely taken aback by the question. “Of course not, but I am suggesting it because I know you. Your heart is too easily touched and you are swept up too quickly in your affairs.”

Dorian struggled to keep himself from being openly annoyed with Maevaris. He knew that she was looking out for him and she had reason to as she was well acquainted with his history. Still, he was offended for Iron Bull’s sake. Iron Bull was completely incapable of hurting or controlling him, that he was sure of.

“If he was such a jealous lover, he would never have stood for me returning to Tevinter.”

“I suppose. But I do I find it odd that he has you writing letters at all. I know you speak with him quite regularly with your crystal, even more so than your darling Cadash.”

“I enjoy writing letters to Iron Bull.” Looking up from his letter, Dorian caught Maevaris’ disapproving gaze. “Truly Mae, you would be most charmed by him.”

Maevaris hummed a noncommittal answer.

Finishing up his letter, Dorian gave it a quick spray of one his fragrances, a honeysuckle mixture from Orlais that Vivienne gave him for Wintersend. The perfume was a fitting choice since the paper he was using had pressed honeysuckles in it, a gift from Josephine that he was trying to use up. There weren’t many people he could correspond with using flowery paper and consequently Iron Bull was the main recipient of the stationary.

He still couldn’t use the perfume without remembering how Iron Bull buried his face into Dorian’s neck when he wore it the last time they met. 

His heart sped up at the memory of how Bull tore off his robes and held him up against the front door of their newly purchased villa. Iron Bull himself was fully dressed, his trousers were just loosened enough to take his cock out, the straps and buckles of his harness digging deliciously into Dorian’s bare skin. Dorian had wrapped his legs around Bull’s waist and his arms around his lover’s shoulders, unable to do little else as Bull rocked his hips up to drive himself deeper into Dorian’s pliant body.

All the while, Dorian had a clear view of the gravel drive leading up to the house. He hardly protested when it became obvious that Iron Bull was going to fuck him on the outside of their new house. The house sat some way back from the main road, but they could only guess at how nosey their neighbors at the border town were. Even with the low risk, the thrill of it was more than enough to tempt Dorian.

The entire time, when he wasn’t busy kissing Dorian, Iron Bull had his face pressed into Dorian’s skin, inhaling the scent of honeysuckles, and murmuring, “I hope someone comes. Someone sees you like this, so needy for me. They’d see how beautiful you are, how perfect you are. They’d envy me, knowing only my cock can satisfy you.”

He wondered if Iron Bull thought about the same things when he caught the lingering scent of Dorian’s perfumes on his letters. After letting the ink and perfume dry, he sealed the letter to give it to a trusted servant later.

“You can’t blame me for worrying about you,” Mae said, jerking Dorian from his recollections. “I’m not surprised that you took a lover while in the south, but to continue a long distance affair at such risk to yourself is unsettling. If your Tal-Vashoth is bought off by one of your enemies, it will utterly destroy you and I’m not just speaking of politics.”

Normally he would bristle with defensiveness and argue with Mae, but he didn’t. The anger Dorian used to carry when Maevaris would do this came from the knowledge that she was ultimately right. Many of his old lovers would and did sell Dorian out, and one time had even led to his kidnapping from his lover’s home and subsequent house arrest by his parents. Each betrayal always left Dorian terribly hurt, despite Mae’s warnings. Notwithstanding his history, he was upset that she thought Iron Bull could be bought, but unlike his previous liaisons, he felt secure in Iron Bull’s feelings for him and in his own feelings for Bull.

“You needn’t worry,” he said, “the Iron Bull is a man of impeccable integrity and kindness, he would never hurt me.”

“You talk about him like you love him.”

Dorian didn’t contradict her.

“Oh, my dear boy.” 

“You’ve been right before, I’m mature enough to admit that, but you needn’t protect me from myself or my lovers anymore. My amatus is not that sort of man, he is actually closer to the sort of man your late husband was.”

Maevaris’ expression softened, knowing that Dorian wasn’t making the comparison lightly. She got up and walked over to her friend, plucking the letter off of his desk and inhaling the scent of the paper, ink, and honeysuckles. 

“Do send him orchids next time,” she gently advised after a long pause, “they are so much more you.”

 

_Dawn Lotus_

The fact that Iron Bull didn’t stir when Dorian sat up in bed was a testament of how tired he was. Normally just the change in Dorian’s breathing was enough to wake him up, but Dorian wasn’t surprised to see that Bull was still asleep. Iron Bull did spend the better part of a week trying to find where the Venatori had taken Dorian and then didn’t sleep even after they recovered him. Apparently Iron Bull sat at Dorian’s side as a one man vigil, waiting until he regained consciousness days later.

He knew that Iron Bull and the Chargers came to rescue him from the Venatori, but he couldn’t remember it. The last thing Dorian could remember about his captivity was being dragged from his cell to be questioned and tortured, and that was it. Dorian thought he saw Cole and heard rambling whispers telling him to sleep, and then he fell into unconsciousness as he was hauled into the makeshift torture chamber. But when he asked about Cole later, no one had seen the spirit turned human anywhere.

It was the second time he’d been taken by the Venatori and it made the first seem like a visit for afternoon tea. He was at least reassured by Krem that all of the Venatori involved were dead and that it was better that he didn’t see the aftermath.

Dorian gingerly got up out of bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much as to not disturb Bull and not to aggravate his still healing injuries. His legs trembled slightly and his almost naked body shivered as he moved at a snail’s pace across the room to his wardrobe to dress. The entire way, he kept touching his chest where his dragon tooth necklace usually rested, but the Venatori took it. Thankfully, they sent it to Cadash as proof that they had Dorian, and she and Sera were currently on their way to the villa to see Dorian and return it.

As he slipped on a tunic, Dorian caught the sight of his torn and soiled robes from his captivity sitting in the bottom of the wardrobe. One of the Chargers must’ve thrown them in there as Stitches tended to his wounds and Bull bathed his feverish skin. Slowly bending down, Dorian found his bloodied undershirt in the pile and his fingers sought out the pocket in the garment. He fished out a brown paper envelope with a small cheery drawing of flowers on it from the pocket and took it with him as he shuffled out of the room.

He wanted to get out of the house before Iron Bull woke up for some fresh air. Dorian woke up a week ago and had yet to leave the confines of his bedroom, and after days spent in a tiny, dark cell, Dorian needed to get outside. Even in the spacious room he shared with Iron Bull, he could feel the walls tightening and he couldn’t breathe.

The villa was silent despite it being late morning. Normally by this time in the morning, he and Bull would have already made love at least once, bathed, and finished breakfast. But there was nothing normal about this current visit. The guestrooms were filled with Bull’s men and even they hadn’t stirred for food or for their morning drills. It spoke of the general exhaustion that weighed down the villa.

Not that Dorian minded the silence at that moment, it gave him time to appreciate the house he bought to share with Iron Bull. For a time, he thought he might never see it again.

Dorian loved the villa with its vaulted ceilings, large picture windows, and the small details that marked it as their own. One of Bull’s great swords was hung over the fireplace in the library, stacks of books on magic and history covered every tabletop, small figurines of dragons lined the shelves in the parlor, fine Tevinter dishware filled the china cabinets, and dawnstone pink accents were everywhere.

Stepping outside onto the back veranda, Dorian took a deep breath of the chilled morning air and squinted out at the sight of the villa grounds. The grounds were well maintained, filled with a wealth of greenery and cottage stone pathways. Iron Bull was enthusiastic about working on the garden, planting flowers, trees, and shrubbery wherever he could. He even dug a pond with a plan to have Thom Rainier build a small row boat for it the next time he visited. 

Dorian made his way down one of the pathways to the pond and kneeled down at its edge, gritting his teeth as his body protested against the movement. For once he didn’t mind the cold soil dirtying his clothes and he started digging a hole into the earth with his fingers. Then he opened the envelope and spilled some of its contents out into his palm. 

They were dawn lotus seeds, an impulse buy that Dorian made before crossing the border and after he left his servants behind to continue to the villa by himself. He remembered tucking the envelope into his shirt as he prepared to cross the border and it remained there during his captivity.

Whenever Dorian was overwhelmed with despair while lying on the cold floor of his cell, he reached into his shirt and thumbed the paper envelope of dawn lotus seeds, thinking of Iron Bull and watching him dredge up the pond with passion. It helped to stave off the festering worries of Iron Bull being similarly ambushed and killed. Of Iron Bull not going to the villa to begin with, because they had a bitter fight weeks ago. Of Iron Bull arriving at the empty house and thinking that Dorian had left him. Of Iron Bull searching fruitlessly for him, while Dorian was endlessly tortured for information on his political allies and Cadash.

The envelope crinkled in Dorian’s clenched fist as his chest constricted and long minutes passed before he could comfortably draw in air again. Pushing on, he continued his task by pouring the seeds into the hole and covering them up.

“For fuck’s sake, kadan, what are you doing out here?”

Iron Bull was standing over him and Bull’s face was pale with an edge of panic in his eye that was slowly fading. 

“I thought I’d make it to the villa a day before you and I was going to plant these before you got here as a surprise,” Dorian said, like that might explain everything.

Bull’s face crumpled at being reminded that Dorian did not make it to the villa as planned. “You should’ve woken me up if you wanted to come outside.”

“You needed the sleep.”

“I need you not to disappear on me,” Iron Bull snapped suddenly.

The harshness of his tone made Dorian freeze up and his chest constricted again. In his mind he could still hear echoes of the hard voices of his countrymen, yelling and snarling at Dorian when he refused to answer their questions or spat out the magebane they forced on him. For a brief second, he was back in his cell. 

Iron Bull’s expression crumpled even further as he realized what he had done. Sitting down next to Dorian and careful not to touch him, Iron Bull apologized, “Shit, I’m sorry, kadan, I’m sorry. I was so rattled when I woke up and you weren’t there, I just … I’m sorry, I should never speak to you that way, you don’t deserve that.”

Taking Iron Bull’s hand, Dorian gave it a squeeze. He forgave Bull immediately, he knew that they were both stretched to their limits by the recent events.

They sat in silence until Iron Bull admitted, “I was afraid when you didn’t show up at the villa and I couldn’t reach you on my sending crystal. I knew something happened to you, that someone took you and it felt different from the last time. I managed to hold myself together, just barely, and fuck, it felt like when I saw you fall into the Fade. But I knew that you needed me to find you and to kill those bastards who took you. When we found you and you didn’t respond when I held you, I thought we were too late and I realized that there’s so much that I want to have with you.”

Dorian didn’t say anything, wanting to hear everything that Iron Bull had to say. It was rare for Iron Bull to talk about his own wants and needs as most of the time he was content in giving Dorian what he needed.

“I want us to have a future where I wake up with you next to me every morning, where we aren’t apart all the time and we aren’t afraid that one of us is going to be killed suddenly. And I … I want us to expand on what we have together.”

Dorian’s heart raced in both an anxious and pleasant way as he realized that Bull didn’t mean buying additional property or getting a dog.

“I’m afraid that I’m going to lose you before that can happen, kadan.”

A few weeks before they fought via their sending crystals because Iron Bull found out secondhand that there was an attempt on Dorian’s life. Maevaris did delight in writing to Iron Bull about what Dorian was up to. They’d become good friends after they first met, perhaps too good considering the amount of information on Dorian that Maevaris was willing to give up. However Iron Bull took the information out of context, an attempt on a Magister’s life was hardly anything newsworthy and it was feeble attempt at that. Mae told him about it like it was gossip, but Iron Bull took it seriously.

Their argument circled back to a fundamental disagreement between them, Iron Bull wanted Dorian to leave Tevinter where he was in constant danger, and Dorian felt there was a still a lot of good he could do in his homeland.

He still thought that there was a lot that he could do, but Dorian knew he was getting tired. He was tired of the political games, of struggling to bring about reform, of being hurt. And he was especially tired of being away from Iron Bull. For so long Iron Bull gave Dorian what he needed and for once he wanted to give Bull what he needed.

“I’m planting dawn lotus for the pond,” Dorian said abruptly. “The herbalist told me that they’ll bloom late in the summer. That might be a good time to think about how I can help Mae from afar, you can start getting Krem ready to take over the Chargers, and we can begin considering about how to … expand.”

“Kadan—”

Dorian pressed the envelope in Iron Bull’s hand. “Plant the rest of these for me, amatus. I honestly don’t know what I’m doing and I want at least one of them to make it to the summer.”

Bull gathered Dorian up into his arms, kissing Dorian’s hair as he clutched the packet of seeds. Dorian relaxed into the embrace as he burrowed himself against Iron Bull’s warmth, and he breathed easier knowing that Bull would hold him to his promise.

 

_Crystal Grace_

“Papa, my horns itch,” Herah complained.

Dorian peeked over the rim of his reading glasses to look at his Vashoth daughter. It was close to her bedtime and they both knew that she should be upstairs, waiting for Bull to help her with her bath before being tucked into bed for a story and kiss goodnight from both her fathers. But she apparently had more pressing concerns. Her horns were coming in amongst her snowy white hair, a source of great pride for her and irritation due to the itch.

Herah stood by his armchair in the library with a picture book tucked under her arm, obviously expecting that Dorian would oblige her. At five years old and spoiled with an abundance of toys, books, attention, and love, Herah knew that she had both of her fathers wrapped around her little finger. 

Though she was larger than a human child her age, Iron Bull said that she was rather tiny for her age for a Vashoth. What Herah might have lacked in stature, she more than made up for in personality, willfulness, and intelligence. Bull complained that all those traits came from Dorian, despite Dorian’s objections to the contrary. All of their friends said that it wasn’t hard to believe that such a child tamed both an old Tal-Vashoth mercenary and a former Tevinter Magister.

Dorian put his own book down on the side table and asked, “Do you have your horn balm?” 

She grabbed a small, round tin from the warm flannel robe she wore over her pajamas and held it out to him with a smile.

“Alright.” Dorian took the tin from her. 

He patted his lap and Herah quickly climbed up, sitting with her back against his chest. She snuggled up to him, wheedling her way under the blanket draped over Dorian’s legs and setting her book down on her lap. A tiny hand reached up and toyed with Dorian’s dragon tooth necklace, as was Herah’s habit.

“You know that you can always ask your other father to do this as well,” Dorian suggested, probably for the hundredth time, though he always indulged her.

“But you do it best,” Herah flattered him.

“I suppose I do.” 

Dorian opened the tin and scooped some of the balm up on his finger and started massaging it into her tiny horns. He channeled heat into his hands, making Herah hum with relief. That was why Herah declared that her human father was better at putting on horn balm than her Tal-Vashoth father. Iron Bull didn’t deny her assessment.

Herah opened up her book and a paper bookmark slid out from between the pages. Dorian caught it before it fell to the ground and looked at with curiosity. The bookmark was old, its paper yellowed with age, and pressed into the paper were several small blooms of Crystal Grace. The color of the dried flowers was faded, but it still held some its former brilliance.

“Where did you get this?” Dorian asked.

“I’m borrowing it from Poppy’s numbers book.”

Iron Bull was diligent about keeping track of all of their money. Years of monitoring payments to his mercenary company and pay to his men made Bull a fastidious accountant. He spent hours in their study going over their payments to servants, farmhands, merchants, and tutors for Herah. Herah liked to sit on Iron Bull’s good knee and watch as her father filled out what she called his numbers book.

“Uh-huh, and does Poppy know that you took it from his book?”

“Me and Poppy are sharing it,” Herah evaded the question with ease.

“What are we sharing?” Iron Bull asked as he came into the library, sitting down in the armchair next to Dorian’s.

Dorian handed the bookmark over to Iron Bull. “Your bookmark, apparently.”

“I was wondering where that went!” Bull looked relieved when he took the bookmark. He grabbed Herah’s book and tucked back in between the pages before handing it back to their daughter. “I guess I’m sharing it now, but don’t lose it, imekari, this is a very special bookmark.”

“I won’t lose it, Poppy,” she promised solemnly.

“And what makes it so special?” Dorian asked.

“It’s made from the first flowers you ever gave me,” Bull answered.

Dorian blinked in confusion and Herah was intrigued. She leaned forward towards her other father and said, “I wanna know about the flowers Papa gave you.”

“Come here, imekari, and I’ll tell you the story.”

Herah put her book away and scrambled off of Dorian’s lap, taking the blanket with her, and hopped up onto Iron Bull.

“There was once a beautiful mage from Tevinter, who went south to join the Inquisition and help the brave Inquisitor.”

“I know this story!” Herah protested, sticking out her lower lip in a pout.

“Let me finish.” Iron Bull poked her nose and continued, “Once he joined the Inquisition, the mage met a rugged, tough Tal-Vashoth warrior with rippling muscles.” He flexed one of his arms, making Herah laugh. “The mage and the warrior instantly became friends, but soon the mage began to have deeper feelings for the warrior.”

Dorian rolled his eyes at Iron Bull, but he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face.

“The mage didn’t know how tell the warrior how much he cared for him, he had been taught to conceal his feelings because—”

“His parents were assholes!” Herah helpfully supplied.

Dorian’s smile became an open scowl as Iron Bull nervously cleared his throat and tried to scold their daughter. “That’s not kind, Herah, we don’t say those kinds of things, especially not about Papa’s parents.”

Herah frowned, “But you do it all the time.”

“Um, well, you know you’re not supposed to repeat everything Poppy says, right? … Hey, where was I? Oh yeah, the mage didn’t know how to tell the warrior how he felt about him, so the mage gathered a bouquet of flowers and gave it to the warrior. The warrior was thrilled to get a gift from the pretty mage.”

“You said the mage was beautiful, not pretty.”

Iron Bull chuckled, “I did, didn’t I? And you know what, imekari? The mage is still beautiful to this day.”

Dorian couldn’t help but feel a flutter of pleasure at the statement. He loathed admitting that he was getting older, that his hair was graying on the sides, he was soft around the middle, and he was getting more wrinkles around his eyes. Though that never stopped Iron Bull from calling him beautiful nor did it diminish the hunger in Bull’s eye when he took Dorian to bed.

“Anyway, one of the warrior’s friends, another mage, thought it would be nice to press a few of the flowers into paper to make a bookmark, that way the warrior would always have the flowers. The warrior treasured the gift, but was also surprised to find that the mage kept giving him flowers.”

There was something in the sight of Iron Bull and their daughter together that Dorian never tired of seeing. He couldn’t get enough of seeing the open adoration Herah had for Iron Bull and the joy that Bull took in spending time with Herah. The added sentimentality of Bull’s story just made Dorian’s heart ache in the sweetest of ways.

“The mage gave the warrior flowers before a battle against demons to make him braver and for a grand ball to shield him from the scorn of nobles. He gave the warrior flowers to soothe his worst fears, heal his wounds, and ease his loneliness. Whenever the mage thought that the warrior might need extra strength, he gave him a flower. And finally, one day, the warrior realized that every time the mage gave him flowers, the mage was actually saying, ‘I love you.’”

Dorian was forced to fight back the burn of tears in his eyes and Iron Bull smiled knowingly at him.

“Did the warrior love the mage too?” Herah asked excitedly.

“Of course he did.”

“How did he tell the mage?”

“By smothering him with kisses!” Bull pressed kisses all over Herah’s face, until the giggling child squirmed off of his lap and threw herself at Dorian.

“Papa, do you love me?”

Dorian wrapped Herah up in his arms. “With all of my heart.” 

Dorian picked up his daughter, balancing her weight on his hip and knowing that it wouldn’t be much longer until she got too big for him to lift. He carried her over to the fireplace, where on the mantle there was a fresh bouquet of Crystal Grace in vase, recently cut from the garden. Taking two of the flowers from the bouquet, he gave one to Herah. 

“Papa said he loved me!” Herah beamed, even though Dorian told her that he loved her all the time. She jumped down from Dorian’s arms, tucked the flower into her soft white hair, and showed it off to Iron Bull.

With the second flower, Dorian handed it to Iron Bull as he leaned down to kiss him, whispering, “I love you, amatus.”


End file.
